


cherry wine (the taste of your lips)

by honeyzhu



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, chan is 8, great-gatsby inspired, minghao is 17 and a prostitute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25953073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyzhu/pseuds/honeyzhu
Summary: he can only long for cherry-lipped kisses during late-night rendezvous, reopening stitches within his already-bleeding heart. tastes of home and the remnants of who he had thought were his forever did nothing for the drooping of his eyes.god, he was so tired.
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon, Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Wen Jun Hui | Jun, Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Yoon Jeonghan, Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu, Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Xu Ming Hao | The8/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. where it all began

**Author's Note:**

> #svtcw and #svtcherrywine on twitter

_Welcome to Yoon Estates._

Ebony-white walls stand against a backdrop of the surrounding forestry, contrasting the light blue and orange hues that painted the sky behind it. It’s a lush, luxurious sight. Perfectly trimmed hedges decorating an expansive garden, flowers of all types sprinkling color among the spruce-green fields. Spotless, pristine walls marked the interior of the manor, accompanied by countless rose-gold engravings and candleholders.

A crimson-colored carpet rolled down the staircase, dripping with the essence of wealth, leading up to the grand entrance, which was laced with gold trimmings and small pearl accents. Every acre of the estate seemed to be doused in riches and displays of exquisite taste.

Waiting at the top of the staircase, a delicately-dressed gentleman in an expensive three-piece suit peered out into the almost-setting sun. His carefully-styled blonde hair framed his delicate features, hands hidden in the pockets of his navy suit. As the light of the burning-out sun sprinkled onto him, one might say that he almost resembled an angel.

“Hello, and welcome to the Yoon Estates. I’m Yoon Jeonghan, I hope you enjoy your stay here.” A small but ever-polite smile remains, though his eyes told far more of the truth. He offers his right hand for a handshake and as a gesture of welcome.

Turning around, Jeonghan motioned for an almost presence-less figure standing in the corner of the entrance.

“Seungkwan, right? They’ll bring you up to your room, I’m sure your travels have tired you out, considering how exhausted you looked at the party, so I’ll ask someone to send refreshments straight up to your room later.”

Muttering his thanks, Seungkwan followed the tidily-styled stranger up the marble staircase running through the centre of the lobby, feeling oddly out of place among the shimmering pearls decorating the walls. Almost as if he was another meticulously-carved puppet to add flavor to a beautiful but otherwise cold set piece.

He’s led over to one of the ornate spruce doors on the fourth floor, where the stranger halts, right in beside it, motioning for Seungkwan to go inside.

What greeted him inside was nothing short for a suite fit for a king. The large, four-poster bed was far more expensive than anything he had grown accustomed to. Just a quarter of the room would probably be worth more than the entirety of his will’s contents.

As Seungkwan curtly nodded to the stranger and hastily closed the door, a small vase of flowers sitting innocently on the painted-white desk caught his eye. The oddly-bright splash of blue stood out among the other white and rose-gold accents and decorations in the estate, though there were quite a few other brightly-colored blossoms perched and strung within the walls of the manor.

Blue Peonies, he recalled, without ever needing a second though. After all, those were flowers he had become far too familiar with.

Setting what little of the belongings he had brought along for his stay, he laid down on the bed, wrinkling the previously wrinkleless silk sheets that had been carefully folded and placed onto the mattress.

Though he wasn’t necessarily foreign to this type of wealth, it had been a long time since he'd immersed himself in the lifestyle of a wealthy businessman. After all, it had never appealed enough to him for him to follow in his father’s footsteps.

Propping himself back up, he looked out at the glass doors leading to a small balcony and looked out at the scenery splayed out below him.

The glowing sun was sizzling out as the last few rays of peach and sunflower-yellow stained the garden right beneath his balcony with the colors of summer, almost making him forget the fact that it was now late-October.

Offering one last glance to the garden, Seungkwan turned back and began unpacking. Yet, his curiosity seems to itch at the back of his mind as he hears a loud crash further down the hallway.

**two;**

Another yell punctuates the previously-quiet floor and Seungkwan's curiosity gets the better of him. He hesitantly gets up, moving away from his luggage. Trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible, he cracks open the spruce doors ever so slightly, just enough to peek through a small gap and look into the hallway.

In the centre of the hallway, Jeon Wonwoo stood there, arguing with another tall man in a suit who had his back to him. Wonwoo looked similar to how Seungkwan remembered him; silver-rimmed glasses and ever-calculated eyes, violet-tinged black hair meticulously styled to look neat. Except now his usually-calm expression was replaced with one of frustration.

Squinting his eyes, Seungkwan recognised the hair of the man with his back to him––blonde, and neatly slicked back. The dark blue suit was now slightly wrinkled, especially around the elbow. Almost as if its wearer has been crossing his arms too often, though he was still doing it even now. The blonde hair wavered slightly as the man shook his head slowly.

"Wonwoo, you know better than anyone else why I need to do this. It isn't a choice anymore, it never was, to begin with." Jeonghan pleads, desperation leaking into his voice. "You can't turn everything back now, not when everything's just falling into place."

Wonwoo glared at Jeonghan, his lip curling in disgust. His brows knitted themselves into a frown as his gaze hardened.

"You've really gone too far this time, Yoon Jeonghan. I've tried to help you, but you're sick for thinking this is all justified." His hand tightens into a fist. "No matter who it is, it's not your place to intervene."

"So you're saying I should just leave him to suffer? Easy for you to say, everyone you love is happy and doing what they love. What about me? I just don't want to see him suffer, can't you see that? I thought you would understand, Wonwoo, you always did, you know how I feel." His voice curdled from a crude attempt at begging into something more sinister, more reminiscent of anger.

"I was fine helping you because you're my friend Jeonghan," Wonwoo lets out a bitter laugh, taking a step back before running his hand through his hand. "It wasn't because I understand what sick hero mentality you seem to have. Sometimes people are meant to suffer, and this is one of those cases-"

"You're telling me to just let him die?" Seungkwan flinches as Jeonghan's yell rings through the empty hallway. Had anyone else arrived on this floor, there was no doubt the pair would've been heard a long time ago. "If I don't do this, who knows how much longer he'll last? He looks like he hasn't slept since January and I'm pretty sure that it hurts to breathe-"

"This is exactly why everything's escalated to this point." Wonwoo spits out, pushing Jeonghan back slightly. "Has he ever told you any of this, huh? You're just speculating about something you know nothing about. He'd come to you for help if he needs it, Jeonghan, and he hasn't so maybe you should just, I don't know, leave him alone? Can’t you just stop playing hero for once?"

It was that final line which shut Jeonghan up. Seungkwan quickly closes the door and rests his back against the frame, mind almost unwilling to process what he had just overheard. There was a reason they had been brought here.

Letting out an empty-sounding laugh, Seungkwan rested his chin on his knees. A myriad of emotions bubbled inside him; hurt, confusion, naivety, and countless others. There was still a chance he could've misunderstood, though. It felt as though his brain was a jumbled up jigsaw puzzle, with some pieces missing that others that were torn up into even smaller pieces. Fussing with his hair, he tried to distract himself and continue unpacking what little of his belongings he had brought along with him.

As the sun begins to set, Seungkwan finishes settling into what would be his room for the next few weeks. Despite his initial goal to try and forget about what he had overheard, the thought had not once left his mind. Who was Jeonghan trying to save? Why was Wonwoo so against it? Had Jeonghan only invited them here for a purpose?

Sighing for the upteenth time from the past few hours, Seungkwan hesitantly pushed open the door leading to the hallway again. To his surprise, he finds a slightly-taller man dressed almost too casually sitting in the hallway. The stranger offers him a wave, and Seungkwan instinctually waves back

"Hi." said the stranger in the hallway.

"Hello." replied Seungkwan, his eyes fixated on the strange visitor across from him. "I'm Seungkwan." He states, blandly.

"It's nice to meet you, Seungkwan." he nods. "I'm Minghao."

Saying that the atmosphere was awkward would be an understatement. It was almost possible to slice through the air like a stick of butter.

"Do you- Do you want to.. come in? Or are you just... going to keep sitting in the hallway?"

"Sure." Minghao blinks.

Once they were inside the room, Minghao looked around Seungkwan's room. His dark-brown eyes seemed to scan every detail inside, not missing even the smallest of abnormalities.

"You're not wealthy right? You don't have a lot.." He mutters. "You must've been a pity-invite...."

**three;**

Minghao blinked back at him, his eyes dipped in a way that was almost provoking him, like a fox eyeing its prey. Seungkwan only stared back with unwavering certainty, crossing his arms over his chest.

A beat.

After everything he had just said, Xu Minghao had the audacity to laugh. Not just a short chuckle, or a half-hidden smirk, but a full-on doubling-over type of laugh. His pretty eyes curled into crescents and, had Seungkwan been any less tired, he probably would have blushed.

Seungkwan instinctively took a step back, anxious about what he was about to do next. “Um… What’s so funny..?” His voice wavered slightly. Minghao bit his lip, a playful light dancing in his eyes.

"You- Your face-" he managed to say between giggles. "You looked like you wanted to punch me or something-"

Seungkwan just stared back at him blankly. “What?”

"I'm surprised you didn't punch me, actually." Minghao mused, his eyes ever-so playful. Though, he seemed a lot more friendly than before. "It wasn't a funny joke, I know. I just wanted to.. test you, I guess?"

Minghao flopped onto Seungkwan’s bed without waiting for an invitation, hugging one of Seungkwan's pillows to his chest. Seungkwan watched him in mild disbelief as Minghao drew circles on the sheets, his eyes occasionally glancing at Seungkwan.

He looked… pitiful. Was that the right word for? Almost like a drenched kitten in the rain, or a lost kid in the streets.

“Uh…. Minghao… What are you doing..?” Seungkwan stepped back yet again, trying to ignore the fact that there was a complete stranger lying on his bed like some toy.

"In case you haven't realised, we're both pity-invites, or something like that." Minghao chuckled, though it seemed less genuine than before. "You seemed nice so I figured I'd come to say hi."

Propping himself, Minghao sat with his legs crossed on the bed, smiling up at Seungkwan. "Two stray stowaway cats on the Titanic..." he sang, before letting out another small giggle.

"Jokes aside," Seungkwan didn't even get a chance to reply. "You're probably the only other person here who isn't an international superstar or a rich businessman. Plus, you're cute too."

“Huh?”

Minghao flops back onto the bed, sighing. “I just dislike–– no, that’s too weak a language–– despise all this talk about class, or rank. Why must wealth be the determinant of success?” He pouted. "I'd say I'm pretty successful, but the only difference is that I have twelve dollars to my name."

Seungkwan felt something change, a click going off inside his head. There was strange.. attraction, almost, or pull that was making him want to befriend the weird man who had barged into his room and was lying on his bed. Many it was a survival instinct, or something more rooted in a spiritual world.

Minghao finally got up, brushing his clothes down as a mild attempt to quell the wrinkles but to no avail. That didn’t seem like much of an issue to him though. “Well, it’s about time I head out. See you?” He chuckled, grabbing Seungkwan’s hand out of the blue and shaking it, before helping himself out of the room.

The door clicked shut. Seungkwan rubbed his face, trying to process everything that just happened.

“...What was that all about??" He groaned. It felt like he had just aged thirty years in the span of a couple of minutes.

Minghao. That was his name. Something about him made Seungkwan want to talk more to him, like the aforementioned pull he had felt.

They really were alike. 'Two stray stowaway cats on the Titanic', as Minghao had described it. But, they still had their differences, ones that Seungkwan could already pinpoint despite their short, but lively, interaction.

Minghao did want wealth, at the end of the day, or rather, he wanted the power that came with it. From what little Seungkwan knew about him, he could already tell that Minghao was the type to bottle everything up until it exploded.

Seungkwan sighed once again, sitting himself at the desk. A white stack of paper caught his eye, placed at the corner of the table. The memo pad had an intricate design, pearl white paper lined with baby pink. He picked the pad up lazily, flipping through it. Wow, even the paper feels expensive.

Just then, one page fell out of it, gliding down gently like a sakura petal falling out of the tree. Seungkwan scrambled to pick it up. It was the only sheet that had writing in it. Perhaps it had been wedged in by someone else? He inspected the writing.

Hastily scrawled across the neat, embossed memopad were an almost-indecipherable rendition of the words that seemed to burn through his head in the dark of night.

_I need you to remember._

He brushed his hand through his hair again. "I need a drink. Or at least something to eat."

Jeonghan had promised that something would be sent up, but it was nearly seven and the only person he's encountered so far was Minghao. The kitchen couldn't be too hard to find, he decided. He would need to go out and explore the rest of the manor soon anyways.

Pushing open the door again, he looked on either side just to check that there wasn't another eccentric guy standing in the hallway. Then, he wandered down the staircase to reach the ground floor again, the entire trip eerily devoid of any other guests or even staff.

Despite the fact it was his first time at the estate, he found the kitchen with surprising ease. Wandering in, he looked around to try and find something to eat or ingredients for him to bake something with.

"Who are you?" yelled a sudden voice behind him. Seungkwan whipped his entire body around and met the eyes of a mildly-terrified guy with chestnut-brown hair.

**four;**

Seungkwan shot him an annoyed look, crossing his arms. “I just wanted to get a drink, why so aggressive? Gosh.” He scanned the shelves as the guy eyed him suspiciously.

“Who are you.” He repeated his question. Seungkwan rolled his eyes and turned around to face him again.

“I’m Seungkwan, a guest here. Okay? If you can excuse me, I would like to help myself to a drink.”

The guy looked him up and down uncertainly, before turning around and continuing with whatever he was doing before. Seungkwan glanced at him, before turning to the refrigerator.

As his eyes darted across the various questionable things inside, they finally settled on a small, neatly-packaged carton of milk. Smiling contently, he reached for it and took it out.

Turning back to the strange guy who was still staring intently at his back, he waved the carton in his direction and asked, “Hey, do you have any idea where I can get a glass or a mug of sorts?”

What he didn’t expect to receive as a response was a groan, the other man rolling his eyes and leaning against the wall.

“I’m using that.” he responded, voice flat. “I need it to bake.”

Huffing a bit, Seungkwan replied with a monotonous “Well I need it to drink, so can you just tell me where the cups are? It’s not like I’m going to drink all of it.”

“No.” responded the other man, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not going to do that. Why? Because I can.”

At this point, Seungkwan could only gawk at him in blatant disbelief. “There’s no need to be rude about it? What have I ever done to you?”

The man narrowed his eyes and gestured at the milk. “You threatened my milk, that’s what. Now go find something else.”

Anger bubbling in his head, Seungkwan placed the milk back in the fridge before trudging towards the pantry, grumbling insults under his breath.

A pang of guilt shot through him despite all else. Had he been rude? If he had, it wasn’t what he had wanted to do. Glancing back at the stranger a couple times, he didn’t look like someone who would start insulting people for using milk most days.

**five;**

Seungkwan halted at the doorway, before turning around and shooting the guy a genuine, apologetic look. The guy didn’t seem to notice though, he was busy baking.

“Hey.” The guy looked up with annoyance, a look of what is it now. Seungkwan gulped. He was rather intimidating.

“Look, I’m sorry if I upset you. I just wanted some milk,” he chuckled in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere but to no avail. The other guy sniffs in distaste and returns to baking without sparing him another glance.

Seungkwan still refused to leave with this guy still mad at him. After all, he could understand wanting his baking ingredients untouched.

“I understand if you wanna stay mad at me for touching your milk. Really, I take up baking in my spare time,” he spares another short laugh. The other guy’s shoulders lose their tenseness. “I just wanted to say I meant the apology, and it wasn’t a good first impression. I’m sorry for that too.”

As he leaves the kitchen, Seungkwan hears a soft, “Hey,” called from behind him. He turns and sees the baker wearing a wide smile. “I’m sorry, too. I’m Seokmin.”

“I’m Seungkwan,” he replies with a grin. They wave at each other before Seungkwan leaves the kitchen to roam around a bit more before retiring to his rooms.

As he passes by the dining room, he catches sight of another invite sitting inside, tracing his finger along the rim of a glass through the crack in the open door. The man’s lips are in a thoughtful pout, and his eyes seem to be staring into something that isn’t there.

Seungkwan knocks on the door gently, and the man’s head snaps up. “Want some company?” Seungkwan asks quietly.

Though he was sure he had never met the stranger sitting across from him, there was an odd familiarity between them, a feeling of coming home, almost. He felt at ease in the other’s company, like he could feel content just spending forever just sitting in his presence.

“I’m Vernon.” replied the man, gesturing to the spot next to him. “I’m just.. thinking, I guess. It’d be nice getting someone else’s view on this.”

Seungkwan nodded, seating himself down beside him. “Someone else’s view on what?”

Vernon turns his head toward Seungkwan, and Seungkwan is rendered silent when his gaze lands on Vernon’s face. It seems… weathered, almost, though Vernon couldn’t be too far from his own age. Upon further examination, Vernon’s expression looks… unwhole. Incomplete would be the better word. But Seungkwan, for the life of him, could not figure out why.  
“Oh, I was just… thinking, I guess.” Vernon turns his face away from Seungkwan. “Do your memories really affect who you become as a person.”

Seungkwan looks confused. “Your memories? I mean… I’d definitely say so.”

“No,” Vernon laughs, nudging his glass back and forth on the table, “I meant, like… I’m already in my mid-twenties, right? So I should be able to form a coherent idea of the identity I want to adapt to.”

“The identity you want to adapt to?” Seungkwan is beginning to feel like a parrot. “What do you mean?”

Vernon hums, pulling a face as he thinks. “For example, the ship of Theseus. It’s been speculated by a few people that one of Theseus’ ships that he used in battle was kept in a harbor as a museum piece. Naturally it would have rotted away, and would have been replaced why the museum staff. After, say, a century, every part in the ship would have been renewed, wouldn’t it?

“The question is, is the restored ship the same ship as the original? If the old pieces were stored away in, like, a warehouse or something, and technological advancements allowed for the old parts to be cleaned of the rot and rebuilt into a ship, is the reconstructed one Theseus’ original ship? If it is, then what about the restored ship in the harbor?”

Seungkwan goes silent for a moment. “It’s… whatever ship everyone else believes in, isn’t it? It really just depends on the common knowledge that’s released to the public. If no one knows about the rebuilt ship in the warehouse, then the one at the harbor would still be the original ship of Theseus.”

Vernon nods, leaning a bit closer to Seungkwan with wide eyes. “Yeah, and what if that ship was a person? What if someone had, like… another self, built out of old memories that they have no use for anymore, and are worse for wear, and then a newer version of themselves, without the burden of those rotting memories? Which one is the real version of ourselves?”

Seungkwan opens his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by a loud yell from the stairway. Vernon and him both turn towards the dining room doors, and the two men jump out of their seats when they hear a loud thud down the hallway.

Seungkwan runs out of the dining room to check out the commotion, and Vernon isn’t too far behind him. Dread fills his stomach, and it seems like Vernon, too, could sense the unsettling air which had settled in the mansion.

When he rounds the corner and arrives at the staircase leading up to the second floor, he sees Seokmin carrying a tray of muffins, facing a man he had seen before, just as he was arriving.

Junhui, he recalled. The man had an eyepatch now, though. Seems like a lot had happened since their last encounter, though he just seemed to be roughed-up in general.

A well-dressed Junhui yells something at Seokmin, loud and almost incoherent. Seungkwan can see Seokmin’s eyes filled up with despair and him hesitantly taking a step back. Following their arrival at the steps, the next moments happen to play out like a slow-motion picture.

Vernon pulls Seungkwan behind him in a futile attempt to shield him from whatever was about to happen, though Seungkwan still struggles in Vernon’s grip. He sees Junhui snap at Seokmin in a rage before Junhui’s arms extend to push Seokmin away from him. A moment before reality processes itself, Seokmin’s eyes meet Seungkwan’s. His gaze was filled with what could only be described as pure fear.

When Seungkwan looks up at Junhui, his face is frozen in shock, too. Perhaps it was the blinding fit of rage, perhaps something else, but what Seungkwan could see clearly was that he hadn’t meant to push him.

Seokmin’s tray clatters down the stairs before his body does.

Seungkwan watches helplessly as Seokmin’s head hits the last stair with a gruesome crack. His blood delicately trickled down the last stair, a cruel shot of beauty among the sickening reality of death's everlasting grip of their lives. The mess that the pastries make is nothing compared to the cruel display of beauty in the way Seokmin’s blood splatters against the marble steps as he tumbles down them.

His limbs are splayed around him, twisted in a way that seemed far too unnatural, resembling a fallen puppet more than the boy he had met in the kitchen just a few minutes before.

_A lifeless ragdoll, with its head stained crimson by the hands of fate._


	2. unlocking the birdcage

**one;**

As the guests of the estate gather around the table, it seems like the air could almost be cut through with a knife. The space between each seat was thick with tension, and most resorted to only keeping their eyes on their plate if they could help it. Small dots of conversation were scattered and sparse, words exchanged were kept to a minimum. 

Sure, the food was delicious. Perfectly creamy mashed potatoes with gravy, paired with a steak diane and a glass of unoaked medium-dried white wine, or, in Chan's case, some apple cider.

It was like everyone had agreed to either keep the conversation about the  _ situation _ in short supply, or dance around as if they were running by a raging pit of fire. And, frankly, Seungkwan wasn’t having any of that today.

“I think we should talk about what happened,” he starts, bringing the topic up delicately. Like rocking the boat and making sure it doesn’t capsize. “Avoiding the topic won’t make it go away.”

Across from him, Joshua’s eyebrows twitch. “He wasn’t a  _ topic _ ,” he mutters with a cold stare.

Seungkwan gives Joshua an apologetic look before moving on. “I’d, um… like to try and find out what happened. I didn’t know Seokmin too well, but I think we owe it to him to at least attempt an investigation.”

"What's there to investigate?!  _ That asshole _ —" Soonyoung points across the table at a quiet Junhui. "—pushed him down the stairs! He's the fucking murderer and we all know it, there's no blank to fill!"

Small murmurs of agreement echo from the other seated guests, most glaring ever-so-slightly at Junhui, though there were still sympathetic glances from a few. Somewhere among the pandemonium, another guest had somehow crashed into him and now the man sat alone, bandaged wrapped tightly over his right eye and his hand.

“We don’t know what they were yelling about before it happened,” Seungkwan insists, voice monotonous. "And frankly, I think we should hear the whole story before we make a judge of character."

"Okay, fine!" Soonyoung crosses his arms, huffing at Seungkwan. "Would the guilty party like to make a statement? Or is that not 'fair and just' enough for you? Do you want me to invite a judge, too?" 

It didn't take a genius to see that he was upset about the entire thing, but Seungkwan knew better than anyone that he was probably going to get a few disapprovals from the crowd.

Seungkwan’s nostrils flare in irritation. “No, that won’t be necessary,” he gestures vaguely to Junhui. "Do you care to make a case for yourself?"

Junhui stares at him blankly. 

"It wasn't my fault," he replies, blandly. Seungkwan feels like crying.

“You  _ pushed him _ down the  _ stairs _ !” Soonyoung cries, slamming his hands down on the table. The ceramics and cutlery set on the table clatter as he does. “How could you say it  _ wasn’t your fault _ ?”

"He deserved it. He deserves to die." Junhui spat out. "You all think I'm in the wrong but he was the one out to kill, not me."

“He was sixteen,” Joshua almost-mumbles, loud enough for the other guests to hear. He looks up at Jun with an incredulous expression. “He loved baking and taking care of our son.  _ How _ could you say he was out to kill?”

Junhui grows quiet, mouth opening, then eventually closing.

"Wen Junhui, I thought I knew the type of person you were. I thought you cared about our sons, about this family, and I still cared about you, about  _ us,  _ even after you grew distant and, hell, I still did even when I first heard about this entire thing. But I'm not going to let you just go around talking about how  _ our son _ deserved to  _ die.  _ I'm not letting this go without an explanation; None of us are." Joshua crosses his arms and stares Junhui in the eyes.

" _ Look at me  _ when I'm talking to you, Junhui.  _ Please. _ " His voice catches on the last part, gaze equal parts desperate and enraged.

Most of the people at the table are stunned still. Of all the years they've known Joshua, this was probably the most they're heard him say.

Jun looks Joshua straight in the eye, and he looks  _ angry _ . “Fine. You want an explanation? Why I yelled at him, why  _ he deserved what he got _ ? He poisoned your tea. He tried to poison your —  _ our _ son. Our real son,” he snaps.

“But, fine, let’s insist Seokmin didn’t deserve what he got. And I wanted to confront him about it, but as always, I managed to screw things up. But is it really a screw-up if I managed to avoid a situation we both wouldn’t have wanted?”

The meaning of his words resounds around the room, bouncing off the wall and blanketing the dining room and its inhabitants in a thick, murky silence that is much uglier than the tense air that sat in thick slabs between the seats before Seungkwan spoke.

Then Soonyoung gathered his wits, and  _ oh, crap  _ — “That’s not an excuse!” he practically yells, which launches an enraged outburst from almost everyone else at the table. “ _ You still killed him! _ ”

“You could have spoken to him, instead,” Seungcheol reasons, albeit with cold eyes. 

Mingyu scoffs, “There were literally infinite other ways to confront him instead of doing it at the top of a flight of stairs,  _ and pushing him down! _ ”

Joshua slumps back in his seat, his eyes wide and expression vacant. Seungkwan watches as his son — Chan, who had been watching the conflict, silent and confused — tugs on Joshua’s sleeve and says something in a soft tone with a disoriented look on his face. Joshua shakes his head, plastering a gentle smile on his face and whispering something that, apparently, comforts the young boy enough for him to be able to hug Joshua tightly.

The atmosphere in the room seemed to shift, not quite drastic, but still noticeable. The happy-go-lucky kitchen boy had been planning to kill his family. A slight drop of sympathy for the dead, yet the situation seemed to only grow grimmer.

Seungkwan sinks into his seat. Sure, he had wanted to hear both sides of the story, which is exactly what he got. Yet, why did he feel like he had made a mistake? Like he had turned over a rock covering something which had never meant to be seen, unlocking Pandora's box.

“Arguing won’t get us anywhere, what’s done is done,” Wonwoo finally spoke, rubbing his temples. “Seungkwan’s right, we should look at this objectively, even if the accused”–– he glances at Jun–– “looks  _ very, very _ guilty.”

Soonyoung turns his attention to Seungkwan, narrowing his eyes and giving the young man a harrowing stare. “Alright then, mister  _ detective _ ,” he sneers. “You got the story you wanted. The facts are laid out on the table for you to make a verdict.” Then, his tone turns almost taunting, baiting Seungkwan into saying something, anything, for him to pick apart. “What are we going to do?”

Seungkwan stands speechless, words and questions and half-formed answers running through his mind too quickly for him to make a solid resolution out of. With the eyes of the other guests upon him, with their anticipative stares making him feel like there are insects crawling just under his skin, he shakes his head.

“I… I don’t know,” he croaks, his throat gone dry. “I don’t know what to do.”

**two;**

Seungkwan groans in frustration, shoving his fingers through his hair in an attempt to think straight again. His head pounded with the aftermath of drinking and, after waking up in his room alone, he found himself struggling to piece together everything. 

Junhui had pushed Seokmin down the stairs. Seokmin had tried to kill Chan and Joshua. Joshua and Chan didn't know about that, but somehow Junhui did. The facts were strawn out on the table in front of him.

The question, now, was  _ why _ . From the little knowledge that Jeonghan had given him, Seokmin had been adopted by Junhui and Joshua a while after Chan's birth, when Seokmin was peaking into adolescence. 

Previously, Seokmin had been living in a home with children of similar nature; abandoned from birth, from families who could no longer afford to take care of them, those whose families had met unfortunate ends, so on so forth. So why would he push away the only family he had? To  _ kill _ them, even?

Two and two did not match up. Did he make the wrong choice of trying to investigate more, by dirtying his hands with matters that did not even involve him? No, he had to, someone  _ died. _ Seungkwan pondered left and right, not sure what to think anymore.

Soonyoung’s voice echoed in his mind.  _ “Alright then, mister detective,” he sneers. “You got the story you wanted. The facts are laid out on the table for you to make a verdict.” _ Wait. _ That’s not true _ , Seungkwan thought. He didn’t, in fact, have much proof at all. So many questions left unanswered. He snapped his fingers.  _ What I’m missing is a background check. _

Seungkwan arrived at the door of Seokmin’s room, using a master key he swiped from one of the maids to unlock it. He turned the key in the lock, peeking through the door. A part of him hoped that he’d find something useful. 

He stepped into the room, switching on the lights. The room could be described as pristine, everything organized and arranged in their proper places. Everything was spotless, and Seungkwan would be at awe if the owner of the room hadn’t bled out on the stairs right before his eyes.

He pulled out drawers, looking for anything that could be used as evidence, but no papers were to be found. Even the complimentary memo paper provided wasn’t anywhere to be seen.  _ Weird. _ Seungkwan scanned the room for the millionth time, his eyes landing on the bed. The one thing he hasn’t checked.

The sheets were crisp and neat, not a single crease to be seen. Seungkwan tentatively peeled the sheets away from the mattress, checking for anything, really. To his dismay, the sheets held no secrets. Just a white blanket on a white mattress. He ran his hand through his hair, exasperated, as he tried his best to return the sheets to its original glory.

With little hope left, Seungkwan crouched on the floor, peering under the bed. He wasn’t expecting anything, really, at this point; it was just a means of checking everything thoroughly. 

As expected, there was nothing under the bed. Not on the floor. Though, an odd corner, like paint peeling off the wood, was hanging down from the bedframe.

No, that wasn’t it. It’s too thick to be peeling paint. Plus,  _ the _ Yoon Jeonghan would never allow such a blatant imperfection. Seungkwan reached out and yanked it very carefully. 

Papers fell from the frame, fluttering to the floor below. Seungkwan scrambled to gather them, arranging the parchment in a neat stack. He goes to collect one that had floated far off to the side and pauses.

On the very top of the page, in blood-red, read the words “CONFIDENTIAL”. Though that wasn’t the thing that caught his attention, rather it was the mafia crest. Seungkwan’s stomach fills with lead and his heart drops down to his feet as he picks up the sheet of paper and reads the content of the page.

_ Joshua Hong _ was written in big, bold lettering on one side of the paper. Then, across from it on the other side, a sum of money that was… larger than your average restaurant tip. Under Joshua’s name was  _ Lee Chan _ , and the price across from the young boy’s name was marginally larger than Joshua’s.

Joshua and Chan’s names had  _ PRIORITY _ in the same crimson ink as the heading of the page. There were more names and more prices under theirs, but Seungkwan quickly discarded the paper in his hand next to him and rifled through the stack with a renewed vigor.

Names — no, targets — and prices and illegal dealings were documented on each sheet of paper. Seungkwan’s hands were shaking as he put down the last paper he could bear to skim over and glanced around at the mess of off-white and blood red and black ink scattered around him.

For the first time since the disaster that was dinner yesterday, Seungkwan comes to his first clear conclusion: Seokmin was part of a mafia organization, and for sixteen… the boy was in way over his head. Seungkwan thinks he could say the same about himself.

**three;**

Seungkwan’s vision seems to be rendered useless as his eye-line remains blurred and unfocused. He stumbled out of Seokmin’s room in a daze, thoughts running through his mind far quicker than he could process. 

To believe that Seokmin, the sweet boy who had so quickly made up with him following their interaction in the kitchen, would join the  _ mafia _ –– that was something he found hard to truly wrap his head around. Seungkwan could barely control his vision, let alone be aware of where he was headed until he felt himself come into contact with someone else as he walked briskly down the hall.

A pained groan sounds from the body he’d just run into and Seungkwan’s head clears enough to recognize Minghao, sitting on the ground with his face scrunched up in muted agony. His eyes seemed to squint up at Seungkwan in a strange mix of judgment and confusion, though there was definitely a dash of pain in there.

“Oh,” Seungkwan blinks. Then his limbs regain their ability to move. “Oh, my god, I’m sorry — I wasn’t in my right mind —”

“No, that’s alright,” Minghao lets out a strangled laugh. “Can you help me up, now, please?” 

Seungkwan blinks again, looking down at Minghao, obviously in more pain than one was supposed to be in after falling onto the ground. Then, his vision shifts to Minghao's arm rubbing on his back, the faint flush on his face, and the loosely tucked silk shirt. 

_ Oh _ . His mind connects the dots for him. The second Seungkwan realises what his acquaintance had been up to, his face burns up with embarrassment.

Finally offering a hand to Mingaho on the floor, he nervously giggles. "Rough night, huh?"

Minghao's ears turn a shade redder, if that was even possible. The dark-blue silk button-up that he was wearing seemed to make the blush across his face stand out even more. Mumbling a couple of shallow excuses under his breath, Minghao takes his hand. 

“Jeonghan-” he opens and closes his mouth. Something in Seungkwan’s brain clips and he looks away hastily.

“Let’s get you fixed up,” Seungkwan helped him up, carefully positioning Minghao’s arm over his shoulder. “Where’s your room?”

Minghao gives him the directions to his room and their slow — very slow — walk back to where Minghao was staying begins. It’s almost quiet, save for the little pained noises coming out of Minghao’s mouth.

“What were you thinking about?”

Seungkwan blinks stupidly. “Huh?”

“Your expression. Clearly you’re bothered by something,” Minghao pointed out. It was only then that Seungkwan realised his brows had knotted themselves into a line on his forehead. 

Seungkwan waved it off, accidentally brushing his fingers against Minghao’s chest. He winced. “I- sorry! Uhm… I’ll tell you later.”

By then the duo had arrived at Minghao’s door, and he took his key out and fit it into the lock, twisting it and opening the door slowly. He holds the door open for Seungkwan with a polite but slightly strained smile. 

Seungkwan enters, and is immediately struck by how… would intimate be it? From the velvet curtains to the pink plush cushions, every single piece of the room seemed to reflect on the various faces of Xu Minghao. A delicate glass vase sat on the vanilla-colored desk, fresh orange blossoms making the entire room smell of citrus fruit. 

The only part of it that really felt out of place was a small pile of untitled books, bound with thick leather, sitting nearly on the bedside table. Not that they reeked of any less wealth, but rather, they acted as a stark contrast to the candy store colours and elegant aura the rest of the room seemed to give off.

_ Yoon Jeonghan must know him well to have furnished it like this, _ Seungkwan pursed his lips, sitting at a wooden bench by the wall. Minghao took a seat on the bed, after changing into a fluffy bathrobe.

“So what was it troubling you?” Minghao asked, sipping on a mug of chamomile tea. Seungkwan blinked once, twice, before sipping on his own cup (which had seemed to just appear out of thin air in front of him). 

Seungkwan hesitates before speaking, “Well, I was just in Seokmin’s room…”

“That much was obvious, but do continue,” Minghao leaned forward before wincing and sitting back upright, grabbing a pillow to cushion his back. 

“Well… I’m just– I can’t believe he’s –– he was –– working with the mafia!” Seungkwan stammers out. Minghao watches as he places his cup down and wrings his hands anxiously. “The — the kid was sixteen, and wrapped up in-in targets, and prices, and  _ confidential shit _ ? He was in too deep for someone his age…”

Minghao remains quiet for a moment, eyeing Seungkwan carefully. “... I know.”

His words sink into the atmosphere of the room, like a ball of metal slowly being swallowed by a pool of sticky molasses.

“...what?”

“I know,” Minghao combed his fingers through his hair. “About Seokmin being stuck in the mafia, about being assigned to kill Joshua and Chan. He told me.” He avoids Seungkwan’s eyes as the look in the young man’s eyes becomes harder.

“What do you mean  _ he told you _ ?” Seungkwan leans forward and ducks his head to meet Minghao’s eyes. The other man begrudgingly meets his stare. “Why would he tell  _ you _ ?”

Minghao clenches his jaw. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? Confide in your  _ brother _ .”

**four;**

When Seungkwan pushes Minghao's door open and sets foot back into the hallway, it feels like his entire world has shifted off its axis. 

_ He knew.  _ That was all he could think.  _ Minghao knew _ . The entire time. Even he himself could barely understand the emotions that those few words triggered. Disappointment, hate, disgust? Maybe more. 

Maybe if Minghao had told someone, maybe if Seokmin had never told Minghao, maybe if things were different, if the timing was different, if he was different-

Thoughts nailed through his head quicker than his heart could beat, a thousand 'What-ifs' and 'maybes' haunted his consciousness. Before he knows it, he's on the floor. 

He couldn't seem to inhale quick enough to breathe and it felt like his lungs were contracting in on themselves. Each hasty gulp of hair meant that air left his internal ecosystem quicker. Seungkwan could almost see the roses inside of his lungs wilting and rotting away. 

Life was fleeting; Seokmin was proof of that.

Could he have changed that? If he had talked with him longer in the kitchen, maybe he would've met Junhui at the bottom of the staircase and taken a  _ far _ less fatal fall. 

Maybe if he had befriended him earlier and noticed that something was off, maybe if he had never come here in the first place, maybe if  _ somehow _ the universe could realign so that Seokmin was still alive. Maybe he would've been as much of a mess as he was.

It was funny, really. A small, hysterical giggle escapes his chest.

He had talked to Seokmin once, only once. 

There was no relationship, not even a budding friendship, between them. Yet, seeing him fall down the staircase felt like a piece of him was being ripped out of his chest. 

A curious stranger's death brought Seungkwan's entire world crumbling down, and here he was, laughing on the dirty carpet of some rich man's estate. 

It wasn't the death itself, really. It felt disgusting to say it, but Seungkwan didn't feel anything. No remorse, no shock, nothing. He could try to justify it by saying that it was simply because Seokmin was a stranger, but the reactions of everyone else at the table earlier was enough to prove him wrong.

Every single person at that table, whether they had known Seokmin for years, months, days, hell, even minutes, looked like the accident had some effect on them, at least red eyes and an off-kilter heart. But here he was, fine and dandy, wrecking his own mind because of the lack of emotion rather than the overload of it.

All he knows is that he's disgusting for not feeling anything. He's supposed to feel bad. He wants nothing more than to cry and scream and yell, to  _ mourn,  _ but instead his brain draws a blank whenever he tries to recollect the details about the incident.

He doesn't even know what he wants to feel. Is it the death driving him mad? Himself? At the core of this, all he wanted to do was solve this mystery. Was this even a mystery? Wasn't it obvious, Junhui had pushed Seokmin down the stairs. Simple. Junhui is guilty.

Except Seungkwan  _ knows _ that he's not. A part of him screams to unravel the story, the other half yells at him to just be  _ normal _ for once and treat these people like actual humans, not just characters from a crime novel.

Amiss his panic, he doesn't notice the pair of strong arms that pull him up from the carpeted hallway. When he blinks back into painful, painful, awareness, he's wrapped in a tight hug. Fingers lightly dabbing on his cheeks, he finds them wet with tears despite him never realising that they had bubbled up in the first place. 

“You look terrible.” The owner of the arms that had pulled him in for a hug speaks with mirth in his tone.

_ Vernon _ , Seungkwan thinks idly, blinking up at him slowly. 

He hadn't known him for that long, honestly. Just a conversation in passing before the  _ incident _ had occurred. Yet, it feels like they've known each other for lifetimes. Seungkwan felt… comfortable with him.

“Are you alright?” Vernon asks in a quiet voice. “Your hands are shaking. You’re crying.”

_ Oh _ . He hadn’t noticed that first thing. Seungkwan looks down at his hands, pulled close to his chest, and takes a deep, shaky breath to attempt to steady himself. Then he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I’m… I’m f-fine,” Seungkwan mumbles. “What were you doing out here?”

Vernon shrugs. “Nothing, really. I think I was looking for something to do, then I found you.. like that.” He gestures to the floor before lifting his eyes to Seungkwan’s. “So, what happened?”

Seungkwan opens his mouth, then closes it again. “I, um…” He shakes his head a bit to try and clear it. “I was just… in Minghao’s room, and…” Something passes over Vernon’s face, but Seungkwan chooses to ignore it in favor of getting words out. “Minghao, h-he told me that he and Seokmin were… brothers? And I found out that Seokmin was working with the mafia before he died.”

“Oh,” Vernon exhales. His hand wavers in the air for a moment before he places his hand on Seungkwan’s upper arm. “Are… you okay?”

Sighing deeply, Seungkwan buries his face into Vernon's shoulder again. He lets out a muffled groan, followed by a quiet, "I don't know."

_ "I don't know." _


End file.
